


I'm Like, A Superhero

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst and Humor, Crack Fic, M/M, Modern AU, New Roommate AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, as the story progresses, kinda??, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3699659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a modern-day superhero searching for a roommate. (The last one threw him out because of the odd hours he kept and the weird ways his clothes always seemed burned or covered in blood or suspiciously missing altogether.) When he answers an ad, the person who picks up the phone is his worst nemesis, only neither of them knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Like, A Superhero

**Author's Note:**

> TBH I don't know how much I'm gonna be able to update this, guys. I'm aiming for one chapter a day, because I'm on spring break for the rest of the week, but if I don't finish in six days, we're looking at weekly updates. 
> 
> This story is based entirely off this tumblr post.

It all starts with a new roommate. Enjolras has a habit of running through them like he runs through medical supplies (that is to say, quickly). This is not, as his friends would have him believe, because of his less-than-charming personality. Enjolras is very charming, thank you very much. It is also not because of the strange (read: late) hours he keeps, or the habit of forgetting simple responsibilities like when it’s his turn to fill the dishwasher, or because he never pays his rent, or the odd things that keep happening around him, or even because of his tendency to come on too strong on issues of justice. Or rather, it _is_ because of all of these things, but all of these things are true because of one simple reason. Enjolras is a superhero.

This declaration is usually met with surprise. Well, it was met with surprise the one time he told anyone. The people he told were his nearest and dearest friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who, truth be told, began checking him for signs of fever or chemical influence (Enjolras never drinks, and they should know that, but he is only slightly offended. He knows it’s kind of a crazy thing to say.)

When he finally convinces them of his sanity and soundness of mind, and they begin to accept what he’s said, both of them admit it explains some things. For example, Courfeyrac says, it explains why he always seems to be places faster than everyone else. (Enjolras’ main superpower is flight, but he’s capable of bursting into flames, and also flame throwing.) Once this is explained, Combeferre stops being _so_ put out about the burn marks in Enjolras’ room. It also explains the fact that he seems to buy more medical gauze than food. He is constantly getting in fights with the bad guys of the world.

Or rather, with one bad guy. Only the one. His arch-nemesis. The villain who believes in nothing except chaos. He has no faith except destruction, no love except money. He seems to think that every opportunity for death and destruction is one to be celebrated. He laughs as he tips over trains with his superstrength, or steals millions of dollars from old men who scream curses at him as he sprints away. Enjolras can never seem to know him, can never predict his next move, has, in fact, never even seen his face. The villain calls himself simply R. There is much deliberation, after Enjolras tells Courfeyrac and Combeferre, of what the R could stand for. “Reptile,” Enjolras suggests, remembering how cold and dry his enemy’s hands are when they fight.

Ruthless, or Raucous or Recalcitrant, are Combeferre’s suggestion, the last of which leaves Courfeyrac breathless with laughter, saying that that is the lamest super villain name he’s ever heard, and he certainly hopes that’s not the guy Enjolras has declared his arch-nemesis.

“Well, then what do you think it stands for?” Combeferre says indignantly, although he’s blushing bright red with embarrassment.

“Rabid,” Courfeyrac supplies immediately, and even Combeferre must admit that this is perhaps better than recalcitrant. At the end of it all, although they never decide on what the R might stand for, Enjolras’ friends have come to terms with the fact that he’s a superhero, and in fact capable of flying and lighting things on fire, including himself. (Of this, Courfeyrac is insanely jealous. And for good reason, Enjolras thinks.) It is quite a relief, for Enjolras to no longer need to hide his true identity. And his friends are never anything other than supportive.

  

But back to the issue at hand. Enjolras needs a new roommate. Enjolras desperately needs a new roommate. Being a superhero doesn’t come with much in the way of benefits, or even basic minimum wage, and although his friends are always happy to help him out when he’s between jobs, he hates to depend on them for much. He’s currently employed at a law office where he files documents and answers phones. He’s paid an almost criminally low amount, and he is not exactly a model employee, what with having to rush off at any moment to save the world. So he needs a roommate, in a small flat, preferably an extremely inexpensive one, and the roommate needs to be at least decent, and accustomed to odd hours, and not too freaked out about blood.

He puts an ad on Craigslist, and a few posters up around town. He doesn’t expect anyone to answer, quite frankly, so he also searches for ads put up by other desperate 20-somethings.

He’s eating Captain Crunch in Courfeyrac’s kitchen and reading the newspaper when the ad catches his eye. It reads:

 

Twenty-three Year Old Male Seeking Roommate

Requirements: friendly around dogs, good cook, accustomed to strange hours and mood swings, not too squeamish, not an axe murderer

Apartment is 800 sq ft, two bed, one bath, kitchen/dining room in one, utilities included in rent.

 

The ad is so strange (and so close to his own, aside from the bit about the axe murderer) that he feels compelled to at least check it out. He calls the number listed, and waits nervously for the man on the other side to pick up.

Shortly, the dial tone is cut off with a click, and a man’s voice on the other side says “Yo.”

“Hi.” Enjolras’ voice cracks embarrassingly, and he clears his throat. “I’m calling to answer your newspaper ad. About the roommate.” There’s a moment’s pause, and then Enjolras blurts, “I’m not an axe murderer.”

He can hear the smile in the man’s voice when he says, “Sounds exactly like something an axe murderer would say.”

Enjolras laughs nervously. “Um, yeah. I – I guess you got me. I’m an, uh, axe murderer.” He feels like he hasn’t made a joke in a long time. But the other man laughs loudly, almost more than Enjolras feels the joke deserves, and it makes him laugh too.

When they’ve recovered, the other man says, “So, not an axe murderer, probably. What other qualifications have you got for me?”

“I’m not squeamish? Like at all, and also I’ve got a good culinary background, by which I mean I can make like a lot of different kinds of food with very little ingredients, because I used to be super poor, and so I learned how to make a ton of different things with, like, potatoes and tuna. I’m not a great cook, but I know what I’m about. And I love dogs. That was the reason I answered, because of the dogs. Do you have a dog?”

 To his delight, the man replies affirmatively. “Yeah, she’s a German Shepherd and her name is Sean because I thought she was a boy. She’s a sweetie once she gets to know you, but she can be a bit ferocious before that. Is that okay?”

 German Shepherds are Enjolras’ favorite type of dog, and he says so.

“So can I swing by sometime? I’d really like to meet you and check out the place.” Enjolras waits with bated breath, for an excuse, or a polite no, or even for the man on the other side to hang up without saying anything.

“Yeah, when are you free?”

They decide to meet up that night, which is a relief to Enjolras, because he’s almost eager to meet his new (potential) roommate, something he hasn’t been in a long time. He knows he’ll spend the rest of the day pacing Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment, maybe ranting to the two of them about the man on the phone, until it’s four o’clock and he can head over to see the apartment. He’s given the address, and just before he hangs up, the other man says, “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Enjolras. What’s yours?”

“Grantaire.”


End file.
